Get Out, Breathe
by Katerina Shinigami
Summary: Duo has a bad day and needs to get out, breathe. Experiment in writing style. Bipolar purge. Warnings: M/m mentioned 1x2x1 , anxiety/depression?, curse word, Duo POV.


Title: Get Out, Breathe  
Author: Shi-chan  
Archive: (Willow), (Katerina Shinigami)  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: 1x2x1  
Disclaimer: GW isn't mine. But the bad day and events contained within are.  
Warnings: none? m/m relationship, Duo POV, anxiety/depression?, curse word  
Summary: Duo has a bad day.  
Note: This story is a purge. I wrote it as an outlet for a bipolar episode. It is also an experiment in style. And yes, it was the worst mock tuna salad sandwich ever... the other place has a much better one. This is a somewhat linear piece retelling a small series of events. Thanks for reading.  
Feedback: Comments are welcome.

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Get Out, Breathe

by Shi-chan

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I'm going insane. I haven't even opening my mouth yet and I'm feeling guilty. I can't keep from envisioning his expression and response to my need to go out, to get away from here, to be alone.

He'll ask me if it's him, if it's something he's done, and I'll tell him in honesty. 'No.' He'll ask if I want to talk about it and again I'll shake my head, braid swaying against my back, its length brushing the backs of my knees (I am twenty-five and I've still never done more than trim the ends).

The guilt eats at me even as he putters around our small kitchen, making us dinner that I won't eat. That too eats at me. I can already see the disappointment in his deep blue eyes when he ends up eating his cooking alone. He loves to cook for me.

Eventually he makes his way into the living room, dinner on the burner, simmering... I imagine the tension doing the same, burbling and thickening. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and breathing seems to become more difficult, panic clawing at the back of my mind, at the corners of my vision.

And finally, like a rubber band, the tension snaps. Only, I'm the one who snaps and the tension is in my head.

"I'm going out."

I choke on the words even as they cross the threshold of my lips, a thick croaking sound like the creaking groan of wood planks.

"I... I need to... I need air."

I sound panicky and pathetic; desperation tinges my voice. My throat is thick with something undefined, a welling that furthers the panic as I hear the rise of tears in my voice. Frustration and desperation.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Those eyes again, those eyes that haunt me in my mind, in my every thought.

"No." I croak. I imagine myself a frog, choking on a fly, the tickling buzz in the back of my throat as I gasp. "No, I need some... time alone. Outside. I was... I might take a walk."

We don't live in a good neighborhood and he frowns slightly at me. He knows I can take care of myself, but he worries nevertheless. Those eyes are curious, the blue trying to swallow me, trying to figure me out.

He's thinking I had time alone all day, here in this house with the cat and the dirty dishes and laundry that I couldn't manage to bring myself to touch. I want to scream at him, instead I begin to babble.

"I... I didn't sleep well." Knowing he was out last night, on a mission, away from me. "And this morning... the weather. I just need to get out of this house, to be alone outside the house, to breath."

I didn't mean to tell him that. The heat is getting to me, but the thermostat reads seventy-five and the vents are blowing out cool air.

I don't tell him about the heat or how I woke up, hurting all over for no explicable reason. I don't tell him about the moment of unexplainable insanity that had me contemplating sharp objects that glittered and the drip-drop of blood on tile. I can't even figure that out for myself...

He nods after a moment, those eyes still measuring me. "I'll save you a plate."

I nod back, not bothering to tell him not to. I'll eat it for lunch tomorrow... or the day after.

My computer's in my backpack and I'm out the door before I can cave in, can give into my guilt -- before I can break down and tell him how pathetic I have been. I key the lock of to my car, dropping my things into the seat and cranking the ignition harshly. I don't care right now if I damage the thing. Flight has taken over. I just need out of here... as fast as these wheels can take me.

I gun it down the street and don't stop 'til a light demands it.

Despite my haste, the cafe I want is closed. Seven o' nine... I just missed them.

Desperate, I settle for the one on the other side of campus. The food isn't nearly as good, too this or too that, not enough of this or not enough of that, but it's palatable.

The lot is nearly empty as I pull in and throw my car into a space. It's not so late, but the semester hasn't started yet and most of the scene kids are still away. Not quite deserted but close enough.

"Know what you want?" The guy behind the register asks me. A bull ring proudly dangles from his nose, moving slightly with each twitch of his lips. His face is gritty in an attempt at mutton-chops that he's far too young to sport properly. Typical scenester living the artsy-city life.

I take a breath to calm myself, eyes glancing quickly across the quirky hand written menu boisterously taking up the back wall. "I'll have a mock tuna salad sandwich." I try to continue my order, but the kid breaks through in typical fashion.

"Side?" He points at the low part of the menu, the part that you can't see until you're right up at the register -- and no where does it say the entrees come with sides, but it's nice to know.

"Pasta salad." This time I wait for him to ask if I would like anything else before making my drink request of a large iced Thai coffee, snagging a straw from the shelf above the espresso machine while I wait to pay.

I concentrate on breathing as he hands me my drink, taking the plastic card I present him with. I forgot my cash in my rush to leave. It sits uselessly on the bedside table next to the alarm clock I don't need but is nice to have, inspirational in the least as it proclaims to be a Dream Machine.

I sign the slip with one of the froo-froo floral decorated pens and search out a seat, despairing mildly that the cushy armchairs are taken by one slip of a girl. A few piercings dotting her face and her hair is bleached white as bone -- and looks about as dry. I'll never understand the art-school scene-kid look.

I take a moment, as I settle down onto one of the benches, to breath out, to look back at the day.

It was like one of those stories that starts with 'It all began with...'.

Personally, I prefer 'it was a dark and stormy night' but well... despite the forecast of thunderstorms this week the closest thing to a raindrop I've seen is perspiration. So it wasn't a dark and stormy night, but it was night.

It began with my car -- and the corner and headlamp which is now a mangled mess... My fault entirely.

I was attempting to pull out of a parallel park when a bright yellow VW Bug came flying up the street. In fear that the heedless, ugly little throwback to another century would clip my front, I froze in my maneuvering. Of course, in my relief that the reckless driver did not smash into my drive side front quarter, I forgot to finish my adjustments to get out of the tight spot...

Crunch.

SUV, one. My poor little compact sedan, zero. I began to panic. Yes, Duo Maxwell, self-proclaimed Shinigami, began to panic over a little car. You must understand, despite the freedom the world has received from our efforts during the Eve Wars the economy sucks and right now money is tight.

How was I going to tell Heero that in under five seconds I'd done a thousand dollars worth of damage without even trying? Damage that I would somehow have to find the money to pay to fix before the car's next inspection.

You see... After the war, I floated around, eventually meeting back up with Heero. Somewhere along the lines we became close, eventually became lovers. And somewhere during it all, I decided I wanted to go to school, to get my degree, to make something with my life.

Being the caring, loving partner he is, he's supported me. Emotionally, spiritually -- monetarily. So when I have to tell him that, I of little means, have just cost us money we don't have... Well I panicked. And I spent the rest of my night panicking, right on into my dreams.

Guilt is a word that I learned early in life. Guilt haunts my earliest memories. Guilt and shame. And in my twenty-five years, I've built up a lot of both. And sometimes it overwhelms me.

Which is why I find myself sitting here, attempting to choke down the worst mock tuna salad sandwich I've ever had -- someone decided lots of pepper would mask the failure of taste -- instead of at home, on my comfortable, at-least-second-hand-if-not-third-or-more, couch, watching a nice fluffy movie whilest wrapped in my lover's arms.

Pathetic? I think so.

Eventually, I'll be able to breathe. Give it an hour or two, some time away from the four-walls that today strove to drive me mad, and I'll go home. Back to his arms, back to the warmth of his love, back to the eyes that forgive me my quirks, my insecurities, my neuroses.

But not just yet. Right now, I need to get out and breathe.

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End


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